Unimpressed
by Cke1st
Summary: What happens if a newly-hatched dragon can't find the person he wants to Impress? Rated K-plus to be safe; the language is all K.
1. Chapter 1

**Unimpressed** Chapter 1

_A/N_  
_What happens if a dragon can't find the person he wants to Impress? It's canon (in Dragonseye, I think) that a newly-hatched dragon will die if it can't pair off with a human. But in "The Smallest Dragonboy," Lessa comments on dragons who can't find the right person, without sounding sad or distraught about it, so maybe they don't always die. I'm going to take her thought and make a story out of it. If that departure from canon isn't your style, then maybe this fanfic isn't for you. Otherwise, enjoy! This tale takes place during the 9th Pass._

**o**

"Father! You made it! You're just in time!"

The weatherbeaten man pulled off his sun-faded farmer's hat and grunted. "Yes, I made it, but it's very much against my better judgement, Falorender. All this nonsense about watching eggs hatch and riding away on a dragon! That's not the life you were born for. You need to learn what you're supposed to do with your life, and then do it."

"But, Father, what choice did I have?" Falorender answered, anxiously but respectfully. "The dragon riders said I was a prime candidate to Impress a dragon, and they took me away that very day! Ever since I got here, I've been learning about dragons, and how the Weyr functions, and it's amazing!"

The father shook his head firmly. "It's meaningless to you, son! That's not where your future lies. Your mother and I didn't raise you for fourteen Turns just to see you live in a cave with lazy men, loose women, and bloodthirsty dragons. You need to keep your feet on the ground and learn how to get your hands dirty in the good soil of our Hold, just like our family has always done." The man paused, frowned, and put a hand to his ear. "What's that humming noise?"

"It's the dragons!" the boy nearly shouted. "They're welcoming the new hatchlings. That means the eggs are about to hatch! I have to go join the other candidates, but you can find a seat up there with everyone else, so you can see."

"There's no need for that," his father muttered. "Those fancy folks in their fancy clothes wouldn't want to rub elbows with the likes of me. I can see anything that's worth seeing from right here." He leaned against the arched entrance to the Hatching Ground, arms folded, as his oldest son ran to join the other white-robed hatching candidates.

From the seat of honor, F'lar watched as the last of the candidates joined up to complete the circle around the eggs. There were forty-two eggs this time, and one of them was a huge queen egg. He turned to his weyrmate. "Ramoth is still the most prolific queen on Pern, Lessa. I know Mnementh is very pleased with himself over this clutch, but your dragon did all the work."

"It helps when she has a fine sire to work with," Lessa smiled back. Her meaning was double; their son F'lessan was finally learning some discipline, now that he had Impressed Golanth, and it looked like he would be every bit the superb dragonrider that his father was. Only time would tell, but so far, he showed signs of becoming his father's son. (Finally!)

F'lar touched his partner's shoulder lightly, then looked back at the eggs and the young men who surrounded them. "We might be looking at Benden Weyr's future leaders," he commented.

"You keep saying that!" she scoffed with a grin. "This Pass ought to be almost over by the time today's dragons reach full size. The two of us are still reasonably young; we've got plenty of leading left to do."

"Perhaps," he shrugged, "but the Weyr will still need a Weyrleader and a Weyrwoman when you and I decide to retire. Someone has to take our places someday. Why not that one?" He pointed to a tall, lanky son of a harper who was standing a bit closer to the eggs than the others.

"Oh, you mean Telecas? He looks brave enough," she nodded, "but the dragon chooses. That short boy right next to him has as good a chance of Impressing a bronze as the tall one."

On the hatching sands, that short boy was beginning to feel the heat through his sandals. Falorender adopted the side-to-side rocking motion common to everyone who ventured onto the sands. But it seemed to bother the others more than it bothered him. Maybe it was because he was accustomed to running around his father's farm barefoot; maybe his feet were tougher than the others. Still, it was uncomfortable to stand here waiting. He hoped the eggs would hatch soon. He didn't expect to get a bronze dragon - everyone wanted one of those, and there weren't enough to go around - but a brown or a strong blue would bring no disgrace on his family line, that was for sure. If he Impressed a green, his father would probably take it as some kind of personal insult directed at him by the Weyr, and he'd never hear the end of it.

The humming from the other dragons was rising in pitch. Some of the eggs were rocking back and forth. Falorender couldn't help chuckling at the thought - _maybe the hot sands make the hatchlings as uncomfortable as we are!_ Then one of the eggs in the middle began to crack, and the top portion of the shell shattered into tiny bits. Its occupant raised his head through the opening, almost comically, before rolling forwards to break clear of the bottom half of the shell.

"A bronze!" Telecas exclaimed.

"They say it means good luck if a bronze hatches first," Falorender murmured.

"It will be good luck if I Impress him!" the tall boy said. Sure enough, the newly-hatched dragon was wobbling toward them. He looked to both sides, glanced at Falorender for a moment, then rushed toward Telecas, who got down into a crouch to meet him.

"He says his name is Ibaneth!" he said in a voice full of wonder. After a few seconds, he led his new dragon friend away toward the feeding grounds, guided by one of the blue riders who was waiting to help. Other eggs began cracking, and suddenly the hatching area was filled with tiny dragons of all colors, frantically looking for the human they would partner with for life.

A bright blue dragon seemed to be headed in Falorender's direction, but turned aside to greet the grandnephew of the Masterfisher instead. Another, a green, seemed to be looking right at him, until she turned around and went back the way she came, to find her partner on the other side of the ring of candidates. A small bronze was staggering around the ring, checking each candidate in turn, until he finally found his rider two boys to Falorender's left. "Are you all taunting me?" Falorender exclaimed in disbelief.

Then the queen egg split open, and all eyes were on her. She seemed to waver back and forth between two pale, panic-stricken girls, but eventually settled on the one who seemed less frightened. The girl forgot her terror the moment she made eye contact with the wobbling golden dragon. By the time that dragon had made up her mind, nearly all the eggs had hatched and the dragons had chosen their riders.

That was when Falorender felt a heavy hand on his shoulder. "It's all over, son. You had your chance. Now it's time to go back to real life."

"But, Father!" Falorender protested. "It's not over. There are two eggs left!"

"Those eggs aren't moving," his father said firmly. "If they haven't hatched by now, then they never will. I've seen enough hatchings of other creatures in my day, so I know what I'm talking about. Come on! We have to get that crop into the ground in our northwest field before the weeds take it over."

"I thought I saw that egg move," the boy argued.

"Even if it did, so what?" the older man said harshly. "I watched half a dozen of those ugly things pass you by. If those last eggs hatch, they'll pass you by, too. Whatever it is that the dragons want, you don't have it. This whole trip was a waste of time."

"Father, please!" Falorender begged. "Just a few more minutes! I'll never have another chance like this!"

"I said _no!"_ his father snapped. "If the riders had chosen your little brother Gisbon, I'd let him stay here all day. But you're my firstborn and my heir. You're destined to be a farmer and a Holder like me. Forget about flying around in the air all day, living off the tithes of what other people worked and sweated to produce, pretending you deserve it because you're some kind of Weyrfolk now! As I said, you need to learn what you're supposed to do with your life, and then do it." He took his fourteen-year-old son's hand and firmly led him away toward where the messenger dragons waited to take them home. Falorender tried to look back at those last two eggs, but the ring of unchosen candidates closed around them and he couldn't see them. After a minute, he gave up and sullenly followed his father.

There were still nearly thirty young men standing around those eggs, hoping against hope that one of them might still hatch. But as the minutes went by, with nothing to show for it but hot feet, the candidates began to drift away by ones and twos.

"Wait!" the Weyrwoman suddenly shouted. "Don't leave yet! Ramoth says it's not time for you to go!"

"How can she be sure?" F'lar asked her.

"She just knows," his partner said. A few moments later, one of the eggs stirred, and all of the candidates abandoned any thoughts of leaving early. The ones who had begun to leave dashed back to surround the eggs again. Then the second egg began to show cracks as well.

The two latecomers hatched within seconds of each other. One was a beautiful bronze; the other, a sturdy brown. The bronze got his bearings, then made a beeline for the overjoyed fourth son of the Lord Holder of Nerat. The brown looked around at all the candidates, but didn't move. He seemed confused.

"What's wrong with him?" F'lar asked. "He's got over two dozen fine young men to choose from."

"I suppose he doesn't see the one he's looking for," Lessa commented. "We almost had that problem a Turn ago, when young K'van tried to hide from Heth, but that pair managed to find each other."

"If this one is too choosy, he could wind up alone," the Weyrleader said. "What will happen then?"

"I asked the other Weyrwomen about that, shortly after K'van Impressed Heth," she replied hesitantly. "They said, most of the time, the dragon dies. Sometimes he changes his mind and picks one of the boys in front of him. Every dragon makes up his own mind about these things." They watched as the newly-hatched dragon looked wistfully toward the entrance to the Hatching Ground, then sat down and cheeped disconsolately.

"Ramoth tells me he's very hungry," the Weyrwoman said. "I don't know what we're going to do about that."

"Can one of the blue riders lead him to the feeding area?" F'lar asked.

"I'm sure they're willing," she replied, "but how will they talk to him? How will they tell him what to do? Only an Impressed rider can speak into a dragon's mind."

"Or another dragon," the Weyrleader thought out loud. "Maybe Ramoth could relay messages to him from you."

"She could do that today," Lessa nodded, "but she can't do it forever! She has other things to think about, like catching and eating her own meals, and looking out for her idea of what's best for me, and sleeping like the lazybones she is. I've got other thoughts to keep me busy, too. We'll have to find some other way of dealing with that little dragon."

"I'll speak to the other Weyrleaders when we meet next week," F'lar decided. "Maybe one of the them has heard of something like this happening. Maybe they even know a way to deal with it. In the meantime, I'll assign one of the older riders to look after this beast, in addition to his own dragon. An older dragon won't be so prone to jealousy... I hope."

"By the way," Lessa added, "Ramoth says his name is Warmoth."

**o**

The other Weyrleaders had no first-hand experience with a dragon who declined to choose a partner. G'dened said emphatically that such a thing had never happened during the Eighth Pass, and insinuated that F'lar's disregard for tradition was to blame for this misfortune. F'lar had to fall back on his own wits. He decided to try his plan to assign the young dragon to an experienced rider. For this unusual assignment, F'lar chose a veteran of a dozen Threadfalls named P'reed and his blue dragon, Smith. P'reed had been scored in several places over the past few Turns, and he couldn't move as quickly as he used to. That was something of a handicap in the air, but it wouldn't prevent him from caring for a newly-hatched dragon. Smith wasn't jealous at all; he knew who his rider was, and he sensed no special attachment to the newcomer.

The three of them began working out some simple hand signs, like "eat," "sleep," and "fly," so the human could signal his wishes to Warmoth without involving another dragon. Smith was willing to relay messages, but P'reed thought it would be good to be able to communicate directly when necessary. When communicating in the other direction, the little brown dragon could speak mentally to Smith, who would relay those thoughts to P'reed. They worked together reasonably well, as long as Warmoth was in the training stage.

"But it will never work in battle against Thread," P'reed told F'lar one day. "A fighting dragon has to react instantly when Threads are in the sky; he can't wait five seconds for a message to arrive via another dragon. He's got to flame, skip, and flame again with no delays and no hesitation."

"I'm not sure that dragon can fight Thread anyway," F'lar said thoughtfully. "Without a rider, how can he get more firestone to chew on? He may have to stay grounded in battle."

"Good luck with that!" the older rider exclaimed. "He's got the same instinct to fight Thread that any other dragon has. When Thread falls, he'll take off to meet it, whether he's ready or not. Besides, our casualties are mounting up, as you well know. We could use a strong brown dragon, and Warmoth looks like he's going to be a big one. We've got to find some way of making him into an effective fighter, or he's going to get scored from nose to tail in his first battle."

"Could he follow you and Smith into battle?" the Weyrleader thought out loud. "You could feed him firestone in the air from your own supply bags."

"I'm not sure I could carry enough for two dragons," P'reed answered. "Not only that, but if Warmoth grows as big as I think he will, then he's going to be in the air for hours every time Thread falls. Smith doesn't have that kind of endurance, and as soon as he gets tired, we'd have to land and rest, and where does that leave Warmoth?"

"Alone in the sky, with no guidance and no firestone," F'lar finished the thought. "Could all the riders take turns watching out for him and feeding him firestone when he needs it?"

"Do you want your riders to be distracted in the middle of Threadfall when they need to stay focused on their own jobs and their own formations?" P'reed asked. The answer was obvious, so F'lar didn't answer. He tried a different tack.

"What if he flew with the queens' wing? They don't move as fast as the others, so Ramoth or one of the others could send him commands mentally without compromising their task. Do you think that would work?"

"It would be the same problem, but coming from the other direction," the blue rider replied. "Warmoth won't have enough stamina to stay with the queens through an entire Threadfall."

"That's true," F'lar nodded, "but at least he could fight. But I just thought of something else as well. The queens are accustomed to working with each other and with their riders' flamethrowers. They know exactly how far a flamethrower can shoot, and they arrange their formation accordingly. A brown dragon's flaming breath won't work like a flamethrower, and the queens will have to alter their formation and their tactics, or someone's rider will get burned. Would they do that for Warmoth? I rather doubt it."

"It's not fair to ask all the queens to change everything, just to accommodate one riderless dragon," P'reed agreed.

"So you're right," the Weyrleaded decided. "We need to come up with something else. Until I think of something, please keep working with Warmoth, as best you can. I hear that you're doing good work with him. He's responding to a good range of commands and hand signals."

"Thank you," the blue rider nodded. "It's a challenge sometimes, but Smith enjoys doing something different for a change, and I know we can use that dragon when he's full-sized."

"If only I could figure out _how!"_ F'lar said firmly.

**o**

A few months later, as Lessa sipped her klah one morning, she casually said, "I had an idea."

"About what?" F'lar wondered, instantly on his guard. When Lessa sounded that innocent, it nearly always meant trouble for somebody.

"About Warmoth, the dragon without a rider," she went on. "What if we got him a rider?"

"We tried that at the hatching," her partner said as he began to relax again. "At least, that was the plan. He had almost thirty boys to choose from, and he didn't accept any of them. Do you think you know what he's looking for, so you can find the right boy for him?"

"No, but that's not my plan," Lessa said. "Ramoth has been talking to Warmoth now and then. She tells me that he's very lonely. What if we provide him with someone to fly with him and take care of him, even though they don't Impress? In his current state of mind, he might be more willing to take a human friend."

"He might," the Weyrleader nodded. "You don't think P'reed is working with him well enough?"

"P'reed's first love is Smith, and that's how it ought to be," she said. "He can't focus his full attention on Warmoth. If Warmoth has his own designated rider and friend, they can become friends and spend time together. It's not the same as an Impression, of course, but it's more attention than he could ever get from another dragon's rider."

"That's reasonable," F'lar said. "Who would we offer to him?"

"Are you serious?" Lessa burst out. "There are at least a dozen young men in the lower caverns who would cheerfully violate every tradition the Harpers could ever name, if it meant they could ride a dragon of their own! Just to be fair, we can present them all to Warmoth at once and let him choose one. It will be like his hatching, only just for him, and with no Impression."

F'lar considered that. "If he doesn't choose one of them, then we're no worse off than we were before. I suppose the rider could learn the commands and the hand signals that P'reed invented, so he can talk to the dragon. But there's no way for the dragon to talk to _him."_

"Hmm. I hadn't thought of that part," his partner admitted. "But how much does a dragon have to talk during Threadfall? He can turn his head to ask for more firestone, without saying a word. If he's hurt by Thread, he won't have to speak to make that clear to his rider. I can't think of anything else a dragon has to say while he's in the air."

"That's probably true, although in this case, I can almost guarantee that he'll eventually have to say something to his rider, just because he can't," F'lar commented. "Next question: how do we tell _him_ that he's going to choose a rider?"

"Any of our dragons can relay the message to him," the Weyrwoman answered. "So far, Ramoth has been doing most of the talking to him. Maybe Mnementh would like to be involved in this project?"

"I'll ask him," F'lar said, and mentally described the situation to his dragon, who was sunning himself nearby. "Would you be willing to relay the message to Warmoth that he's going to have a chance to select his own rider?"

_I just did._

"Well, the die is cast," F'lar shrugged to his wife. "My big friend thought we were ready to send the message to Warmoth, so he's already done it."

"Shards!" Lessa slammed down her klah. "I'm not even close to ready! I don't even know who's willing to take a part in this project. Now the dragon will think we're on the verge of offering him his choice, _right now,_ and I hate to disappoint him. I've got work to do!" She gathered up her skirt and ran back to their weyr. "Ramoth, I need a fast ride to the lower caverns!" she shouted as she ran.

F'lar watched her leave. "I hope we don't think of any more problems with this idea of yours," he said to no one. "It's too late to back out now."


	2. Chapter 2

**Unimpressed** Chapter 2

Warmoth could barely believe it. They were offering him his own rider? That would be a poor substitute for the one perfect rider he hadn't found on his hatching day, but it would still be far better than sharing a rider with another dragon. He began to get excited at the thought, and his excitement was palpable.

His excitement also caused problems. Mnementh hadn't informed anyone else about the upcoming change in Warmoth's status, because no one had asked him to do so. P'reed noticed a difference in the young dragon's attitude immediately. When he asked Smith to ask the brown dragon what was the occasion, the answer meant nothing to him. "Are you sure?" he asked Warmoth. "I haven't heard anything about this." Smith relayed the question to Warmoth, whose countenance fell immediately. Had the humans changed their minds already? When he told Smith that he'd heard it from Mnementh, Smith tried to confirm it, and didn't get an answer because Mnementh was hunting his breakfast and didn't reply right away. Eventually, Ramoth had to get involved. It took a while to sort out the confusion.

"So you're getting a rider of your own!" P'reed finally said. "Well, I'm glad for you. Every dragon deserves his own rider. Am I right, Smith?" He rubbed his dragon's neck affectionately.

_Of course you are right. And every true rider deserves his own dragon._

Warmoth watched them interacting and wished with all his heart that someone would love him like that. Soon, perhaps.

They noticed Lessa bustling about in the lower caverns, but thought nothing of it. They were working on Warmoth's ability to fly in formation today. Warmoth and Smith together didn't make much of a formation, so P'reed got the Weyrlingmaster's permission to join all the other young dragons as they practiced formation flying. P'reed and Smith didn't actually join the formation, but stayed nearby so P'reed could send hand signals to the riderless dragon. It was awkward; when the dragons got their commands directly from the Weyrlingmaster's dragon, they all responded instantly, but if a command was relayed verbally from rider to rider, Warmoth wouldn't get the word until several seconds after everyone else. This made his responses unacceptably slow.

It was late afternoon when Ramoth called the pair down. _Lessa has found some rider candidates for Warmoth to choose from._ The young brown dragon barely remembered to ask the Weyrlingmaster's dragon for permission to leave the formation before he folded his wings and dove toward the Weyr. He could see a row of young men lining up on the grounds, wearing white, as though it was a hatching. Lessa was overseeing them, encouraging them to stand in a perfectly straight line. He felt himself quivering with excitement. He swooped down toward them, flared upward slightly, and settled softly to the ground in a perfect landing. He knew he was showing off, but he thought it would be all right for a special occasion like this. All the young men's eyes were on him, in spite of the cloud of dust that his wings stirred up.

"Everyone, this is Warmoth," Lessa introduced him. "You're here today because he is going to choose one of you to be his rider. You're not going to Impress him; you'll just be good friends. Don't get discouraged if he doesn't choose someone right away. This isn't like a hatching; he hasn't made up his mind about you yet. But he will! Ovashen, step back into line!" One of the boys hastened to obey.

Now Warmoth had to choose one of them. Based on what? He swung his head from side to side, looking them all over.

Ovashen left the line again and started to stride toward him. Lessa called him back into his place, but there was no need - Warmoth had already made up his mind about that one. He didn't care for such a brash, undisciplined approach. He glanced at each of the others. They were of all heights and weights; some were what the humans considered handsome, and some were rather plain. None of those things mattered very much to him. In fact, he wasn't sure what he should be looking for in a rider. If this was his day of Impression, he would just _know_ which one was right for him, with a certainty that none could gainsay. This wasn't an Impression, only a choosing, and that inescapable certainty would not guide him today. How could he know which of these young men would be the best rider for him? How could he avoid making a bad choice that might haunt him for life? The older dragons had told him stories about Ramoth's predecessor, Nemorth, who had chosen her rider unwisely, with consequences that had nearly doomed the entire planet. He did _not_ want to fly _that_ route.

He paced the length of the line. One of the boys pulled back slightly as he got close. That one wouldn't do; a boy with any fear of dragons at all could never be an effective dragon rider. Perhaps that would be a good test? He backed away, then suddenly lunged toward them. Two other boys quailed; the others stood their ground. He need not focus any more attention on those two, either. The others seemed fearless. How else could he narrow the field? He turned and began to pace back toward the other end of the line.

He wasn't sure how it happened; perhaps there was a low spot in the ground that he hadn't noticed before. He took a step, and his front paw landed on nothing for a moment. It was enough to throw off his balance; he stumbled and hit his jaw on the ground. It hurt, a little. But it turned out to be one of the most important stumbles of his life. One of the older boys broke ranks and ran over to him. Lessa called him back, but he knelt beside Warmoth, checking his jaw to see if it was bleeding, and saying words that the dragon couldn't understand, but which sounded concerned and comforting. The other boys stayed in their line, just watching.

Yes, this had to be the one.

He crooned in his throat, and bobbed his head up and down in the gesture that meant "yes" among the humans. "You're choosing Bicirich?" Lessa asked him. Ramoth relayed her words to him. He nodded "yes" again.

"Very well, then!" Lessa half-smiled. "You just became a dragon rider, B'rich. Report to the Weyrlingmaster as soon as he lands. And congratulations! Don't hesitate to ask any of the other dragon riders for help. Your dragon has already learned a lot of the basics; you've got some catching-up to do, and we all want you to succeed."

The newly-minted B'rich nodded at her quickly, but his attention was directed solely at Warmoth. That was a good thing, Warmoth decided. He'd never had anyone's undivided attention before. He gazed at his new rider through a whirling eye; B'rich smiled.

Time passed. Warmoth grew larger than most of the browns his age, and B'rich began growing to his adult height as well. They went through the same drills and training as the other weyrlings. They took their first thrilling flight together when the dragon was ten months old. It was frustrating that the dragon couldn't speak into his rider's mind, like all the other dragons could. B'rich could make his wishes known with hand signals and a small but growing vocabulary of spoken commands that Warmoth learned to recognize. But commands were all he could convey. He clearly liked his dragon; he took exceptionally good care of him, and he communicated his affection by scratching and rubbing the places where the dragon liked it. But without another dragon and rider to relay his thoughts, Warmoth couldn't tell his own rider how he felt, he couldn't tell him where he itched, and the mutual encouragement and praise that were such an integral part of every other dragon/human relationship were simply not there.

That lack of mental communication led to one of those unforeseen problems that F'lar had hoped would not arise. In fact, it was a serious problem with no solution in sight. How could Warmoth and B'rich go _between_ if the dragon couldn't get a mental picture of their destination from his rider? Quite simply, they couldn't. This probably meant that the two of them could never be part of a fighting wing. They could fly and flame well enough, they were acceptable at holding their place in a formation, and Warmoth could skip _between_ to avoid hitting Thread; they found out about this while circling the Weyr one day, when Warmoth had jumped _between_ for a moment to avoid a collision with a green messenger from High Reaches whose rider wasn't paying attention. But the long jumps _between,_ to take the wing to where the Thread was falling... those were impossible for this pair. Unless Thread fell right on top of Benden Weyr, they could never get into position in time. They couldn't even serve as messengers, like the other yearlings did. It was easy for B'rich to catch a ride on another dragon so he could learn the locations of the other weyrs and the major Holds. But he couldn't communicate those mental pictures to his dragon, so they couldn't jump there.

So what good were they? F'lar and Lessa spent a lot of time wondering about that.

The Weyrlingmaster certainly found a good use for them. Anytime another dragon erred in his formation flying or the aiming of his fire, he would point to B'rich and Warmoth and bellow, "If those two can learn how to do it right, then why can't you?" B'rich found this mildly annoying; it suggested that he and his dragon were a second-class pair who weren't expected to measure up to the same standard as the others. It was true that the other weyrlings had been training together for months before he and Warmoth had been brought together, and they should have been substantially better than him. But he was determined, his dragon was clever and a quick learner, and they had caught up to the others quickly... except for the part about flying _between_. When the trainees were working on those exercises, B'rich and his dragon were excused. They used that free time to fly all around the weyr and the nearby Holds, becoming perfectly familiar with the land and the waters around them. They became a familiar sight to the various minor Holders of Benden. It reassured them to see a dragon in the skies above them (as long as he didn't get too close).

They were both frustrated that they couldn't take part in all the training exercises. But that frustration faded to nothing compared to how they felt the first time Thread fell in a nearby Hold, and all the weyrlings were put to work as messengers or firestone-carriers... except for them. Warmoth was beside himself; his species instinctively hated Thread and existed to burn it out of the sky, and they wouldn't let him do it! But there was no way he could get to Bitra in time to join the others without flying _between,_ and he couldn't do that. They remained behind, feeling disconsolate and useless, while every other dragon in the Weyr flew away to do battle against Pern's mortal enemy.

After the battle, Mnementh was sunning himself on a rock ledge while F'lar relaxed in a hot bath. The big bronze looked out across the Weyr.

_Warmoth is still very upset,_ he told his rider. _He wants to fly and fight like the rest of us_.

"I can well believe it," the man's voice echoed from within his weyr, "but I can't think of a single thing we can do about it. He can't fight unless he can go _between,_ and he can't go _between_ without a mental picture of his destination, which only his rider can give him. And his rider can't give him the picture because they don't have the mental bond that an Impressed dragon and rider have."

_Can't I give him the mental picture, after you give it to me?_

From within came a sharp splash, like the sound of someone punching the water with his fist. "I can't believe I didn't think of that! Of course you can do that. Any dragon can do it for him. We'll have to arrange for some special training sessions; that pair hasn't made any long jumps _between_ yet, and the dragon is a Turn and a half old. Why didn't you suggest it before?"

_You never asked me before_.

F'lar shook his head. Dragons could think so literally sometimes... _I hope my mind never gets rigid like that,_ he thought. He'd meant to keep that thought to himself.

_Is there something wrong with the way I think?_ Mnementh sounded hurt.

"No, my big friend, there's nothing wrong at all," F'lar said out loud. "The way you think and the way I think are a perfect mix. It's good that we are different. Each of us thinks of things that the other doesn't; together, we make an unstoppable team, and together, we'll rid Pern of Thread forever! I wouldn't change you for all the marks in Fort Hold's treasury."

_Is that a lot?_

"Yes, they say it's a huge amount. Lord Groghe isn't especially greedy, but some of his predecessors were."

_I do not understand greed. Can you imagine dragons trying to hoard wealth? What would we do with it - sit on it?_

"That's what a lot of greedy humans do with their wealth. I don't understand it, either. You, my friend, are my greatest treasure."

_And you sit on me! _F'lar heard Mnementh chuckle mentally._ Anyway, I am glad that you are happy with me as I am,_ the dragon decided, and added, _I am sleepy_. He settled down for a long nap.

"I'm glad you can sleep so easily," F'lar said softly. "I think Warmoth and B'rich are going to have trouble falling asleep tonight, once they learn that they're finally going to fly Thread with the rest of us."

**o**

_A/N_  
_I did something in this chapter (and I'll do it again in the last chapter) that I don't think Anne ever did: I told part of the story from the dragon's point of view. Did it seem strange?_


	3. Chapter 3

**Unimpressed** Chapter 3

B'rich and Warmoth's "retraining" in how to go _between_ began in earnest. Sending a picture of a destination for a jump _between_ was easy when dragons "spoke" to other dragons, and Warmoth took to it instinctively, like all dragons do. B'rich, on the other hand, found it extremely unsettling because he never knew when a jump was about to happen, or where they were going. He was a helpless, surprised passenger every time they went _between_... and just going _between_ was unsettling enough! But knowing that they could now qualify for combat against Thread made the unpleasantness worth it. Their training in going _between_ went faster than that of other weyrlings because the rider didn't need to memorize all the landmarks he would normally use to tell his dragon where to go. There was no point in that; he couldn't send those images to his dragon, and the dragon got the necessary image from his wingleader's dragon anyway.

They also got some overdue training in the special ways that brown dragons should handle themselves during Threadfall - when to fly straight, when to maneuver, when to let a clump pass to the lower-flying dragons, and when to jump _between_ to avoid Threadscoring. F'nor and Canth played a large role in this training. F'lar had asked his half-brother to handle this part of Warmoth's education because the young dragon was bidding fair to rival Canth for size. The tactics that Canth used so well would probably also work for Warmoth.

_He will not be larger than me,_ Canth told his rider confidently, _but he will be close. Another large brown dragon will be good for the Weyr._

"Oh, you're already sure he'll work out well?" F'nor asked him with a smile.

_Warmoth will succeed,_ the big brown answered. _B'rich is still young and inexperienced. He needs discipline, but he will also succeed._

F'nor had to chuckle. "You don't think Warmoth is young or inexperienced?"

_Dragons know what to do, at any age,_ Canth replied, as though it was obvious.

B'rich and Warmoth's first Threadfall would sweep the coastline of southern Benden and northern Nerat. Like the other young dragons and riders, their job was to carry firestone sacks to the fighting dragons, not to engage Thread. They weren't even given their own firestone to chew. But theirs was a vital mission and they all knew it. Warmoth leaped joyously into the sky and proudly took his place in the formation. He got his directions from his wingleader's dragon, Tuenth, and the entire wing jumped together... which startled B'rich, as always.

As soon as they arrived, the dragons scanned the leaden sky for their enemy. They could see the leading edge of Threadfall about a mile ahead of them, landing harmlessly in the sea, but it wouldn't be so harmless in a few minutes. The blues and greens soared upward; the browns and bronzes gained height more slowly, stacking themselves in layers. The young dragons held back; their orders were to support the fighting dragons, but not to get into the fight themselves. They were too raw and untrained. Untrained riders and dragons got hurt far too often to make it worthwhile to risk them.

The first spouts of flame blossomed high above them, quickly joined by many more. This was a thick Threadfall, marred by unpredictable clumps. The dragons and riders hated those falls; no matter how careful they were, they still ran a higher-than-normal risk of being scored by Thread. The leading edge reached the land, but none of the terrible parasites touched down, except as harmless black ash.

S'quier, one of the green riders next to Warmoth and B'rich, pointed up and shouted, "Those high-flying dragons are really busy! They're going to run out of firestone long before the others!"

"Let's gain some height," B'rich nodded, "so we'll be ready when they call for us."

"No one told us to gain height!" S'quier said with a firm headshake. "We're supposed to obey orders."

"We're supposed to support the fighting dragons!" B'rich shouted. "I see some fighting dragons up there, and they're going to need some support really soon!" He got Warmoth's attention and made the hand signals for "fly up." The dragon began gaining altitude. One of the young blues followed him. The others stayed right where they were.

Suddenly the brown dragon began flapping hard, and changed his direction slightly. Had he gotten orders from Tuenth? They were closing in on a pair of greens near the top of the formation. The greens' riders saw the young dragons approaching and held out their hands; evidently, these greens were the first to run out of firestone. Warmoth flew alongside one of them, and B'rich made three near-perfect throws. The rider saluted them quickly, then turned back into the battle. The blue that had followed them refilled the other green's supply. They both broke off, but Warmoth turned and dove toward their wing-second, who held out his hand without even looking at them. B'rich made a perfect throw; then his next throw missed and the sack tumbled away downward. The wingsecond looked to see where his bag of firestone was, and B'rich used that moment to throw another sack, which the older man caught. He gave them a quick wave; then Warmoth veered away toward a section of blues who all needed firestone at once.

When he was done there, he was down to his last two sacks. He got his bearings; the battle was moving steadily down the length of the coastline. Everyone seemed to be doing exactly what he should be doing. The other young dragons had finally gotten into the rhythm of their role and were dealing out replacement sacks as quickly as they could. Warmoth was gliding easily; apparently he hadn't gotten any fresh orders. B'rich took a moment to look around.

That was when he saw the small ship. It looked like a fishing boat, to B'rich's untrained eye, and it had been caught at sea by the Threadfall; it was over two miles away from shore and a mile from the nearest dragons. With the light wind that was blowing, she would never reach shore before the Thread caught up with it, even with all of its crew desperately rowing. He got Warmoth's attention and pointed at it. The dragon nodded (he had learned to nod "yes" and shake his head "no" as part of the hand signals he knew). He would notify S'lel through Tuenth. B'rich watched the dragon formations to see which ones would be detached to protect the ship.

None of them turned.

He realized that they couldn't afford to turn. S'lel didn't dare break his formation and risk letting Thread land on the shore; protecting the land was their first priority. B'rich was too far from them to shout and be heard. That unfortunate ship was on her own. It looked like there were six or seven men on her, and those men were about to die. Even if the Thread didn't consume them, it would certainly devour the ship and leave them swimming, two miles from shore.

"Okay, Warmoth, it's up to you and me," B'rich said out loud. He got his dragon's attention once more and held out a chunk of firestone from one of his last two sacks. The dragon looked startled, hesitated, then took the stone and chewed it up loudly. They altered course toward the ship.

As they approached, the men at the oars suddenly saw him and pointed at him. He was too far away to read their expressions, but it was obvious by the way they suddenly leaned into their oars that they were much encouraged at the sight of him. "Those men are putting a lot of faith in one young dragon," he said out loud. But he was Weyrbred and he had a strong sense of duty. Now, he would do that duty, and prove himself worthy of the trust that those sailors were putting in him.

For the next half-hour, Warmoth and B'rich circled the ship at low altitude. They ignored the Thread that was going to fall harmlessly into the sea, and flamed only the clumps that looked like they might come close to the ship. In the moments when nothing was falling nearby, the dragon fanned the ship's sail with his wings, pushing her a little bit faster toward land. He was showing no signs of fatigue, although B'rich wasn't sure what kind of signs he should be looking for.

Then a tumbling clump came apart as it fell, and part of it caught Warmoth's left wingtip. He screamed, skipped _between_ for a moment, then re-emerged and burned the Thread to ashes. B'rich tried to look at the injury, but it was hard because the dragon's wingtip was in constant motion as he flapped and circled. He didn't know how much longer the Thread would keep falling, and his supply of firestone was running low. He looked up, trying to spot any more Thread before it got too close.

What he saw was a sudden blossoming of flame just above him. F'lar had finally sent help! The first group of greens had dropped out of the battle already, their energy spent; but after a quick rest, six of the bigger ones had been given some more firestone and sent back to help protect that little ship. No one was in charge of the mini-wing of one brown and six greens; B'rich rode the largest dragon, but the greens and their riders were all older and more experienced than he was. They flew top cover out of habit, while Warmoth continued to circle at low altitude, flaming any Thread that got past the greens. They just flew and flamed, and kept flying and flaming, until the Thread finally moved on. The men on the ship waved enthusiastically and blew kisses as the dragons formed up and went _between_ to return to their weyr.

The moment they landed, B'rich ran to look at his dragon friend's wingtip. It was not a crippling injury, but it certainly needed a healer's attention. The Weyr's healers were working all over the bowl, tending to injured dragons and hurting humans according to their specialties, while the lower-cavern workers brought tubs of numbweed and mugs of fellis juice. Warmoth's injury wasn't as severe as some, so he had to wait a few minutes before a healer could see him. B'rich tried to comfort him, but it was hard without a common language. He settled for rubbing the dragon's eye ridges, and the message got across. Warmoth rested his head on the ground and rolled it toward his rider, occasionally flexing his injured wing, until the dragon healer finally had a chance to attend to him.

The numbweed had barely begun to work when F'lar and S'lel strode up to them. The Weyrleader was almost black from the ashes he'd flown through, and his flying leathers showed a score mark across one shoulder; Mnementh had skipped _between_ before the Thread reached the Weyrleader's skin. S'lel also looked the worse for wear. It was impossible to read their expressions.

"Young B'rich," S'lel began sternly, "you were under orders to avoid fighting Thread, were you not?"

"Yes, sir," the young man answered, and began to wilt.

"Was there anything unclear about those orders?" S'lel went on.

"No, sir."

"And you disobeyed your orders, and look at what happened!" His Wingleader gestured with a gloved hand at his dragon's scored wing. "I've seen this kind of thing happen too many times with young riders. We make our rules for a reason! Your disobedience could have gotten you both killed! I could almost wish it was you who got scored, and not the dragon. You'd learn your lesson better that way."

"I have to agree with every word that your Wingleader said," F'lar added. "But I'm told that you and Warmoth did some very good work protecting a ship that didn't heed the warnings about Thread falling today. I can't wink at your disobedience, but I can certainly understand it. What you two did today was in the finest traditions of this Weyr, and it was all the more impressive because your training is nowhere near complete. I'm sure those sailors are going to say kind things about Benden Weyr when they speak to their Master." His expression softened slightly. "If Menolly had seen you in action, she'd probably be almost finished writing a song about you by now."

Then he looked firm again. "Just tell me one thing, B'rich. Whose idea was it to disobey your orders? Was it yours, or was it the dragon's?"

B'rich took a deep breath. "It was entirely my idea, sir."

"I expected to hear that," the Weyrleader nodded. "Sometimes a dragon will see a chance to fight some Thread that others have missed, and will take it upon himself to follow his instincts instead of his orders. More often than not, though, it's a glory-hunting young rider who makes that decision. I cannot -"

"Sir, I wasn't hunting glory today!" B'rich burst out. "I just wanted to protect the men in that ship!"

"And your changing altitude without orders," S'lel went on. "Who were you protecting there?"

B'rich stammered, "I thought the more active dragons would need firestone before the others, so I wanted to get into a more useful position. Was that wrong, too?"

"I can see that I'm going to have to keep an eye on you two," the Weyrleader said thoughtfully. "Setting your own course, in defiance of standing orders, is a disaster waiting to happen. Dragons and riders get hurt when someone doesn't stay in his formation, even if that formation is in the rear of the action, and we won't even talk about the risk of Thread getting through because you're out of position! You need remedial training in following orders. Once you have mastered that, I'll still have to keep an eye on you, because you have some real leadership potential that needs to be developed. It's uncommon for one so young to repeatedly choose his own course of action, and have that course of action be the correct one each time. F'nor and Canth warned me that you are undisciplined and you need to be reined in, and they were correct, but you have the makings of a fine rider. I can see you becoming a Wingsecond some day, once you learn some discipline.

"All things considered, you did well today, B'rich. Far from perfect, but well. Now attend to your dragon."

"Yes, sir!" the young man nearly shouted. Then he turned and half-ran to where the healer was examining his dragon's wounded wing.

They were grounded for two weeks while the brown dragon's wingtip healed. During that time, Ramoth's next clutch of eggs drew near to hatching. Warmoth and B'rich were assigned to new-hatchling helper duty, a task that was usually given to the blue dragons and their riders. But, with the many casualties from the current Pass, there weren't enough healthy blue riders to do the job. B'rich stood behind the ring of candidates and watched as the dragons hatched and, one by one, chose their riders.

He could remember many past Hatchings. As a boy in the Lower Caverns, he'd spent countless hours chopping up fresh meat so the newly-hatched dragons could devour it in a matter of minutes. He'd watched the new riders strutting with pride as they led their newly-found winged friends from the hatching ground to the feeding area, while the attending blue riders gestured urgently for meat, oil, paddles, and more meat. He'd run the errands; he'd become a servant to boys who were younger than he was; and always, like all the Weyrbred boys, he'd dreamed of befriending a dragon of his own someday. They'd even let him stand with the other candidates at a Hatching, one Turn ago, but he hadn't been chosen. Now, he had a dragon... sort of. That wonderful bond of intimate friendship wasn't there and never would be there, but at least he could fly and fight Thread, and see the dragon's appreciation when he scratched Warmoth's eye ridges. He could see other boys squatting and scratching their new dragons' eye ridges in just the same way. He smiled.

One small bronze headed straight toward a short, squat boy who was standing near B'rich. The boy knelt to make eye contact... but the dragon weaved, butted him aside, and made his way to a disbelieving B'rich.

"Your name is Dobroth!?" B'rich exclaimed, his face alight. "You're beautiful! You're the best-looking bronze who ever hatched!"

He was so entranced by the moment of Impression, he didn't even notice Warmoth's bellow of despair that reverberated across the entire Hatching Ground.

**o**

_A/N_  
_The episode of the lone dragon protecting the ship was inspired by an incident in the air war over Germany during WWII. Two American P-51 fighter pilots had used up most of their ammunition and were leaving the battle when they spotted a __damaged American __B-17 bomber, limping home on three engines with the fourth one destroyed. It was about to be attacked by a string of German fighters who expected an easy kill. Even though the American fighters were almost out of bullets, they took up guarding positions above the bomber. The Germans fell for the bluff, gave up their attack, and flew home. As the two fighters and the crippled bomber made their slow way back to England, the men in the bomber gathered at the plane's windows and blew kisses at the fighter pilots who had just saved their lives._


	4. Chapter 4

**Unimpressed** Chapter 4

B'rich's Impressing of bronze Dobroth was a surprise to the entire Weyr, especially B'rich. He'd thought he already had a dragon, even though he and Warmoth had never bonded together the way dragons and their riders usually did. Theirs was a partnership of convenience, and now, that partnership had to end. B'rich now had a newly-hatched dragon who adored him, longed to spend time with him, and constantly needed to be fed, oiled, encouraged, and trained in the Weyr's ways. The young man had neither the time nor the energy to maintain his friendship with another dragon who was in his second Turn and no longer needed that constant level of care.

Warmoth was placed back under P'reed and Smith's care instead. They still worked together well enough. But something was different now. The change was not in Warmoth, but in all the other dragons of Benden. They began to act short-tempered, as though influenced by a proddy green who was overdue to rise and mate. They did nothing hostile toward their riders, or any other humans, but their constant praise and reassurances began to taper off. On three separate occasions, they came close to the unthinkable - dragons fighting other dragons! The people of the Weyr were also becoming short-tempered. Several fistfights had broken out for the flimsiest of reasons, resulting in one brown rider being grounded with a broken nose, and a blue rider being placed on bread-and-water rations with skinned knuckles and a bad attitude. F'lar had to find out what was going on. His Weyr was due to fly Thread over Lemos Hold in a few days, and they could never succeed if they were turning on each other at random moments.

"You can talk to any of the dragons, Lessa," he said to his Weyrwoman. "You've got to find out why they're all acting wrong. The sooner we know, the better."

"Knowing might not be enough to help," she reminded him. "Pern's dragons have endured several plagues in the past. What if this is some new kind of sickness that's affecting us?"

"If it's a sickness, then we can look for a cure," he answered. "Maybe we'll find that cure quickly, or maybe it will take us a while. But we can't fix anything until we know what the problem is. Lessa, please take a break from everything else you're doing. Nothing is more important for you to do right now than to talk to the dragons and find out what's going on."

"I'll look into it," she promised, and she kept her promise. It took her a few days to narrow down the problem.

"It's Warmoth," she told him. "Once he lost his rider, he became totally miserable, and he's radiating those emotions to every dragon and every human around him."

"The way a green or a gold dragon radiates her mating urge?" F'lar asked.

"Exactly, except the mating urge ends as soon as the mating flight is done," she nodded. "I can't see any end to Warmoth's problem."

"Well, we need an end to it, or soon we won't be able to function as an effective Weyr," he decided.

"Can we offer him another rider?" she wondered.

"If he's as depressed as you say, then that probably wouldn't help," he said with a firm shake of the head. "He'll think it's just another temporary solution to his problem. He won't commit himself to the relationship because he's convinced it won't endure, just like his last two riders. If you can, please tell me this: if he stopped radiating despair, how long do you think it would take for the rest of the Weyr to return to normal?"

"I don't know," she admitted. "We're all guessing here, but I'd guess that the change would be almost instantaneous, just like the way life returns to normal right after Mnementh flies Ramoth."

He smiled for a moment at the memory of the last time his dragon had caught hers in the air, then returned to business. "Then I think we'll send Warmoth to another Weyr that isn't due to fight Thread for a while, so we can focus on the job we have to do. We'll take him back as soon as we're done at Lemos."

"You mean we'll inflict that kind of trouble on another Weyr?" she said doubtfully. "And then take that same trouble back here again? That's not much of a solution."

"It will get us through the next Threadfall," he shrugged. "That's my priority. After that... maybe we'll think of some other solution."

He sent out messengers on bronzes that afternoon, explaining the problem and asking for the other Weyrs' help. N'ton at Fort Weyr said they would accept the troublesome dragon for the next three days... and not an hour more. Indeed, Benden's dragons had barely returned from Lemos and were still washing off Thread dust in the lake when N'ton's dragon Lioth bespoke Ramoth, asking for the picture to send Warmoth home again. The brown dragon reappeared a minute later, and the tension level in the Weyr rose immediately.

_Lioth says Fort Weyr can't go through that again,_ Ramoth told her rider. _Warmoth was very disruptive, even though he did nothing wrong._

"Maybe we could send him to the Southern continent?" Lessa wondered. "Is there someplace there where he'd be by himself and couldn't cause any harm to anyone?"

_All by himself?_ Ramoth demanded in reply. _He has done nothing wrong. Why should we exile him for something that is not his fault? That would be cruel. He likes people and he likes other dragons._

"We can't have him poisoning the atmosphere here!" the Weyrwoman burst out. "And the other Weyrs won't take him. What else can we do with him?"

_I will see if I can settle him down,_ Ramoth replied. _I cannot do it forever. But I can bring some peace to the Weyr for a while._

The great gold dragon had a long talk with her big brown offspring. She couldn't completely eliminate Warmoth's unhappy mood, but she did dampen it somewhat. F'lar and Mnementh spread the word to all the riders and dragons that they should watch their tempers, and the angry incidents dropped to nearly nothing. But it took all of Ramoth's concentration to help Warmoth feel better about himself and his situation. As soon as she did anything else, even fall asleep, his stress levels began to rise again, as did everyone else's. This situation clearly couldn't last.

About twelve days later, it was Benden's turn to fly Thread again. This time, they would be defending their own Weyr, along with much of Benden Hold. F'lar looked for someplace else to send Warmoth for a while, but this time, there were no volunteers. The other Weyrleaders had apparently been talking to N'ton; none of them would accept a dragon who made everyone around him miserable and angry, even for a short time. Benden was stuck with Warmoth. F'lar shook his head at the irony of the situation.

"When this Pass started, we would have given anything for a big, strong brown," he said to Lessa. "Now, we're looking for ways to get rid of him."

F'lar and F'nor came up with an alternate plan for making use of that dragon, now that he had no rider. Warmoth would carry no firestone sacks, because he would carry no one who could throw them to another dragon. Instead, he would chew some firestone himself, and fly behind and below the main fighting wings, watching for any Thread that got past them. Essentially, he would be doing the same work as the queens' wing, but by himself, and at a slightly higher altitude. When he ran out of fire, he would fly directly back to the Weyr for more firestone, then return to the battle, a tactic that wouldn't work in any location except this one. He probably would not have much work to do, but he would be able to fight Thread as a productive part of the Weyr. Hopefully, that would help him feel better about his situation and reduce his negative emotions, for a while at least.

"Everyone get ready!" F'lar called to his assembled formations. "Remember, we're protecting Benden's grapevines today, among other things. If any Thread gets past us and lands on those vines, we'll break the Masterharper's heart." A few riders chuckled at that. The Weyrleader made sure everyone had the picture of where they were going, he gave the hand signal, and the wings of Benden flashed _between_.

Somehow, they cut it a little too close this time, or perhaps the Threadfall had started earlier than they expected. They emerged from _between_ to find the leading edge almost upon them. No one panicked; they all set to work without complaints or fear, like the experienced dragonriders they were. But the dragons who normally flew high cover didn't have time to reach their usual altitude; they had to start flaming long before they got that high. That meant more Thread got past them to the lower-flying dragons, the browns and bronzes who had stamina, but not maneuverability. They cut great swathes in the falling Thread, but they couldn't get it all. The queens' wing was unusually busy that day, and Warmoth was much busier than anyone expected. Stationing him just behind the main fighting strength of the wing turned out to be a superb move in this situation. He soon ran out of flame and had to return to the Weyr for more firestone. Flying direct would take too long; they were still too far away from the Weyr. So he got his directions from Ramoth, jumped _between,_ and returned to the battle barely ten minutes later with a fresh mouthful of firestone.

It didn't take long until those fires were also used up. Again, he jumped back and forth, and again, he used up his fires very quickly. This time, he could fly back directly, because the leading edge of the Threadfall had advanced and the distance from the battle to the Weyr wasn't so great. He returned to the fight, as zealous as any other dragon to incinerate Thread before it touched the ground. Mnementh noticed, in a rare moment when he wasn't otherwise occupied, that Warmoth wasn't radiating any negative emotions. Perhaps keeping him busy was the answer.

Then a huge clump of Thread came down, tumbling unevenly as it fell. Two blue dragons flamed it from opposite sides and got some of it, but they both backed off to avoid flaming each other, and the majority of the clump remained untouched. Mnementh managed to get most of it with a prolonged blast, but a fair-sized remnant drifted down toward Warmoth, tumbling even more erratically. He unleashed his fires on it, the fourth dragon to do so, and the flame licked upwards along the dangling Thread. One small piece fell free as the rest burned, and Warmoth couldn't dodge it as it landed across his right wing. He flicked _between_ for a few seconds to kill the Thread, but the damage was done. His wing was scored almost completely through, from just behind the bone to the trailing edge.

He screamed as he fell, unable to use his right wing due to the pain. Most dragons who were badly Threadscored would quickly go _between_ to their Weyr, but he had no rider to give him a mental picture, and he was in too much pain to focus on asking another dragon for that mental picture. He spiraled down toward the fields below him, trying to avoid a crash-landing, but he still hit the ground hard; his legs sank into the soft earth nearly to his belly. He looked up to see if anyone was coming to his aid.

The fighting wings were moving on, leaving him behind, staying with the leading edge. They couldn't break formation to help one dragon. Because he was behind and below them, they probably hadn't even seen him fall. His scream would have been heard by the dragons, but what could they do?

He saw a flash of gold; the queens were approaching. Could one of them help him, or at least send word that a healer needed to come here? They were totally absorbed in spraying Thread with fire and agenothree; they didn't even see him. In a desperate attempt to draw their attention, he breathed out the last of his fire and set the dry grass around him aflame. The queens still didn't notice him. They veered away to catch some stray Threads that were falling by themselves, and passed out of sight.

He flopped to the ground in despair, but he couldn't hold still. His wing hurt so badly, it made him thrash in agony if he moved it. He'd been abandoned. No one knew he was here. Between his pain and his desolation, he couldn't stay focused long enough to communicate clearly with any of the other dragons. How could he get home again? Didn't anyone care about him at all? If he'd felt lonely before, he now felt totally without hope.

After what seemed like hours of lying there alone, he saw motion out of the corner of his eye. It was a human ground crew, patrolling on foot for any Thread that got past the dragons. The men in this team had been drawn by the smoke rising from the grass fire he'd set, and while he couldn't understand their speech, they didn't sound happy.

"I never saw Thread start a fire before," one of them said, agenothree sprayer at the ready.

"Thread doesn't start fires, numbwit!" their young leader snapped. "Fire _kills_ Thread - remember? Hey, _put that sprayer down!"_ The other man had been on the verge of spraying agenothree on the nearest fire. "That stuff makes fires burn hotter! Do you want to make things worse than they already are? Keep that thing away from the flames!"

"Okay, then what should we do?" the man demanded. "We can't just let the fire keep burning in our hay field!"

The leader considered for a moment. "That fire has to be a dragon's doing. What good is it for them to protect our fields against Thread if they're going to destroy our crops themselves?" He put down his flame thrower with a grunt. "All of you, spread out and stamp out the fires as best you can. I'm going to get an explanation from the rider of that dragon who started it. And it better be good!" He ignored the smoldering hay all around him as he stomped toward the brown dragon. He felt unusually angry, though he could not say why.

"Dragonrider!" he shouted. "What do you mean by setting our field on fire? Is this what you call 'protecting us?' Who's going to protect us from you?" He got close enough to the dragon to see that it wore no harness or saddle. "Where's your rider? Then what are you doing here? I thought every dragon needed a rider. Did you go rogue, or did your rider and saddle fall off?" He didn't want to get too close; the big brown dragon was still thrashing the ground in pain; but he had to do something to get the creature's attention. "Would you quit that? Your wings are fanning the flames! Hey, stop ignoring me!" He stepped up so he could look the dragon in the eye -

...and the emotional shock of Impression, amplified by a delay of more than two Turns, struck him so powerfully that it nearly knocked him off his feet.

He had barely begun to recover when the huge beast nearly bowled him over physically, shoving at him with his great head. But it wasn't a hostile gesture. The dragon just didn't know how else to express the overwhelming love he suddenly felt for the young man who stood in front of him, completely dumbfounded. The youth regained his balance and hesitantly reached out to touch the dragon's nose.

_I am Warmoth! And you are the most wonderful human who ever lived! Where have you been?_

"I'm... I'm Falorender," he stammered. Somehow he knew the dragon could hear and understand him now. "I'm sorry I spoke roughly to you. Are you injured?"

_My wing! It hurts! Can you help me?_

"Ouch! That looks painful, Warmoth! I don't know what to do about that, but I'll get you some help as soon as I can." He glanced toward the far-distant Weyr. "I can see five dragons flying straight towards us. Their riders will know what to do for you. I'll make sure of it."

As he reassured the dragon, he could see the great creature begin to relax. The dragon stopped thrashing his wings and rested, and lowered his head so Falorender could reach him. Somehow the young man knew exactly how to scratch the eye ridges in just the way that the dragon liked. He felt his own sour mood draining away. All that was left was joy and amazement at this huge creature who suddenly adored him.

"Are you from one of those two eggs that hatched late, two Turns ago?" the youth asked softly.

_Yes! We were meant to be together! Why didn't you wait for me?_

"I knew it. Oh, I _knew_ it! I wanted to wait, but I had no choice that day; my father dragged me away. But that was then, this is now, and no one is _ever_ going to drag me away from you again. We're together now." He paused. "Wow, you got big!"

_Will you ever leave me again?_

"Never," he whispered. "Absolutely never. I promise you that."

One of the other ground crewmen stormed up to him. "Who are you talking to?" he demanded.

"The dragon," Falorender said absently, then made himself concentrate on his situation even as he continued to scratch Warmoth's eye ridges. "Make your report."

"Most of this hay is either burnt, smoked, or smelling like dragon, so the herdbeasts won't eat it," the man announced.

Another man stepped up next to him. "The field is ruined, too. We'll have to bring some extra dirt out here to fill in the holes that this big beast made with his feet. If we don't, then one of our herdbeasts will fall in a hole and break his leg the next time we plow here."

The oldest member of his team joined them. "Your father was going to sell most of this hay. He wants money to buy a new roof for the storage barn. Now he'll complain for a week about all the money he's lost here. And you're making friends with the dragon that did all the damage! Your father always wants a direct report from me, Falorender. What am I supposed to tell him? He's not going to be happy to hear about this."

"My father isn't happy to hear about much of anything," the young man said with a trace of a smile. "So tell him this. Tell him that my name isn't Falorender anymore. I think it's F'ender now. Also tell him that he'll need to start training my younger brother Gisbon in how to manage this farm, because I can't do that anymore. I won't have time for it."

The ground crewmen gaped at him, not understanding. F'ender looked up fondly at his brown dragon. "Tell him that, just for once, I'm going to take his advice. Tell him that I've learned what I'm supposed to do with my life, and now I'm going to do it."

_The End_

**o**

_A/N  
...and thus ends my first Pern fanfic. It's odd that I waited so long to write for this fandom, compared to the others I've written for. Those other fandoms are relative newcomers, whereas I've been a fan of Anne McCaffrey's work ever since I read "Weyr Search" as a teen-ager. (Don't ask how long ago that was!) __The outline for this story has been in my head for several years; I finally worked up the will to write it down, and I hope you liked it._

_When I first wrote this, I wanted to do something different from the usual F'lar-and-Lessa tale. So I originally set my story in Ista Weyr during the Eighth Pass, with D'ram and Fanna providing the oversight to the situation. But then I remembered that Holdbred boys weren't allowed to be hatching candidates until F'lar allowed it in the Ninth Pass, so I had to go back to F'lar and Lessa and Benden, and I had to rewrite many other parts of the story. I couldn't just change the names; there were aspects of geography and Pernese culture that had to be adjusted to a different time and place as well. I hope I got them all._

_It may amuse some of you to know that all of the original characters in this story are named after guitars:  
__Bicirich/B'rich = B. C. Rich_  
_Falorender/F'ender = Fender_  
_Dobroth = Dobro_  
_Gisbon = Gibson_  
_Ibaneth = Ibanez_  
_Ovashen = Ovation_  
_P'reed & Smith = Paul Reed Smith_  
_S'quier = Squier_  
_Telecas = Telecaster_  
_Warmoth = Warmoth (that was an easy one)_

_Instrument Master Jerint never heard of any of those brands, but I'm sure he would approve of some of them._

**o**

Epilogue:

The five dragons had been sent back by F'lar as soon as the Threadfall had ended. He had heard Warmoth's scream as he fell, but did not dare break the dragons' formation until the immediate threat of Thread had been dealt with. Now he sent two greens, a blue, a young bronze, and F'nor on Canth to try and help their injured, troublesome weyrmate. Canth also carried a dragon healer, the blue was Smith with P'reed, and the young bronze was Dobroth with B'rich. F'lar wanted to be sure that someone could communicate with the downed dragon, no matter what his mental state might be.

_They have found him,_ Mnementh reported to his rider. _He is in a burnt field in a lesser hold. He is surrounded by a ground crew._

"Mnementh, what's the situation?" F'lar asked him.

"How badly is he hurt?" Lessa added. She stood beside her Weyrmate, hearing F'lar's words and mentally listening to the dragons.

_I am not sure,_ the dragon replied hesitantly. _The riders do not understand what Warmoth is trying to tell them. They are asking him about his injury through their dragons, but all he will say to them is, "I've found him! I've found him! I finally found him!"_

"Shards!" F'lar cursed. "Now we've got a _real_ problem! I thought dragons could not go insane, but the pain and the isolation must have made Warmoth lose his mind. By the Egg of Faranth, what are we supposed to do with him now?"

The bronze dragon suddenly smiled mentally. _I am speaking to Warmoth myself now. He has not lost his mind. He has found something far more precious._

"What are you talking about, Mnementh?"

_He has found his rider! Two Turns ago, one of the candidates was forced to leave the Hatching early. That one was meant for Warmoth. Now they have met, and they have __Impressed. __They are together._

"So he's found his real rider after all this time?" F'lar shook his head, but it was with relief. "I'm glad for them both, but now we'll have to train him a third time! After training him with his first two riders, you would think we'd know how to do it. But those two riders were both Weyrbred. Now we'll be training a dragon of two Turns, with a brand-new Holdbred rider. Isn't anything easy with that dragon?"

Lessa thought about that for a moment. "We'll find a way to make it work, I suppose. It's like that old saying that the Weyr's Harper uses now and then: 'The third time's the charm.' At least that dragon finally gave us some good news."

_There could be no better news._ Mnementh sounded very pleased. But then Lessa had a thought that nearly made her laugh out loud.

"His third rider! I can't _wait_ to hear what G'dened and the other Oldtimers think of _this_ Benden breach of tradition!"

_I am sure that Warmoth and F'ender do not care about such details,_ Mnementh interjected. _They have each other._ To a dragon, that was the only thing that mattered.


End file.
